After years of being a closet writer, my poems started to tell me they wanted to get out more . I have a roving rambling heart myself so I completely understand . Happy travels .

Thursday, February 1, 1996


Dragged into being and not being home
With waters and letters and living alone
Plucked feathers, I find, may just be enough
For me to go walking and call this a bluff

Just forget I was there, forget I'm alive
You're not the vehicle that my caught feelings drive
And it hates myself when I say all free
That this limited world does not fool me
Because I've got to be together to only breathe

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